


the agent on the roof

by impossiblepluto



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Episode: s01e04 Wire Cutter, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Macgyver Cold Open Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:26:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25434619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: "Mac said, no matter what happens, we go." A belated entry for the Cold Open Challenge, following 1x04
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 66





	the agent on the roof

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm like a week and a half late? And also writing for Season 1 again. This is me, demonstrating what I said a few weeks ago during the Cold Open Challenge: deadlines and schedules are arbitrary and made to be ignored. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“Mac said, no matter what happens, we go,” Riley dutifully relays the orders Mac gave before shoving her out the door and down the hall to find Jack and Patty, ignoring the deepening scowl on Jack’s face at the words. 

“I don’t care what he said. We’re not leaving him,” Jack growls, leaning around Patty and returning rapid fire through the window of the commandeered jeep. Riley’s been lucky so far. She’s only seen Mac perform miracles, tricking fate onto his side. She hasn’t seen it when things go south. Hasn’t yet watched Mac attempt to throw his life away for the mission. Hasn’t been around to witness the fallout.

“We leave or we die,” Patty flinches as a bullet pings the truck and ricochets. She’s one of the best clandestine operatives Jack’s ever worked with. Maybe one of the best ever, but being a spy isn’t like the military. There’s a different code. And Jack won’t leave a man behind. 

“Oh-four-hundred, Patty. He’s still got like fifteen seconds,” Jack argues. Fifteen seconds, Mac’s performed miracles with less. Jack starts the clock, but he’s already reaching for the door. Either Mac makes it or Jack stays behind too. He’s pulled crazier stunts to keep Mac safe. He won’t ask Patty or Riley to risk their lives for Mac. That’s not what he would want. It’s not what they signed up for.

It is the only reason that Jack is here though.

He counts down, getting ready to throw himself from the vehicle and shout for Patty to drive, get Riley out of here, now, when a thunk against the roof of the car has Jack’s eyes lifting skyward.

A shock of messy blond hair leans over the windshield. “Drive!” Mac yells, pounding the glass. 

“You heard the man!” 

Patty guns it, stomping on the gas. The engine revs and tires squeal. Mac slides forward, scrambling against the roof, holding on with a white-knuckle-grip. Bullets continue to fly. 

With a growl, Jack cranks down his window. Leaning halfway out he returns fire, blowing out the engine of the lead vehicle giving chase. It skids to a stop, blocking the road. Smoke billows from under the hood. The fading shouts of angry men reach them. Jack fires again in rapid succession, scattering the remaining soldier.

“Ha! I got ‘em,” Jack crows, still hanging out the window, expecting a retort from Mac about not getting cocky. Only it doesn’t come. He leans further onto the window frame eyes scanning his kid, taking in the white-knuckle grip against the roof. “Hold on, kid.”

Jack tucks his head back inside the cab, just enough to make eye contact with Patty. He gives a clipped nod before he's wriggling his head and shoulders out the window again.

"You're not old enough to remember car surfin', hoss," Jack yells to be heard. Reaching up, he snags the belt of Mac's Turkish Army drab and holds on. "At best, you were just a twinkle in your momma's smile then."

Mac shakes his head, feet scrambling against the roof as he tries to maintain his grip. “That’s not the argument you use when you make me watch all those eighties movies.”

“In my defense, with that Michael J Fox flick, I was expecting more werewolf and less basketball,” Jack gives a little wolfpack howl. Mac braces as they take a sharp corner. Jack curls his fingers tighter around Mac’s belt, muscles flexing, keeping him centered on the roof. 

“Can we let him in?” Riley asks, leaning into the front seat, watching as Mac’s hand splays against the windshield, resisting the forward momentum. 

“No time,” Patty mutters, cranking the wheel hard.

Mac yelps. 

Jack is thrown hard against the door frame and grunts at the shifting of Mac’s weight. 

“Take it easy!” Jack yells over his shoulder at Patty as he slides further out the window.  The terrain is rough and Jack winces each time they strike another pothole. He can feel Mac flinching under his hand. 

"You alright, kid?"

"Great."

"For a secret agent you're a terrible liar."

"Hold on," Patty mutters, taking the next corner on two wheels. 

Jack bites back on the urge to yell when his shoulder pops, grateful that it’s not his trick shoulder that will fall out of joint if he looks at it wrong. He grits his teeth and holds on. He’s not letting Mac slide out of his grip. Never again. The kid will have to take him with. And maybe they'll have another discussion about hanging out of windows and riding around on top of moving vehicles.  


A hand slaps against his back, between his shoulder blades, gripping his shirt and he thinks for a second Patty is getting soft on him. He cranes his neck. Riley has pulled herself onto the middle console, teeth bared, and eyes squeezing shut, providing a counterbalance. 

“Thanks, darlin’,” Jack calls back, skull rattling. His head thumps against the door frame and his jaw snaps shut, catching the tip of his tongue between his teeth and he tastes blood. 

“He can’t ride the whole way to the airport like this,” Riley protests. 

“Where would you suggest I stop, Miss Davis?” And Jack resists the urge to growl at Patty’s cold tone. 

Thornton’s voice remains ever steady in cadence and tone. Her face impassive, a singular eyebrow elevated when she takes her eyes from the road to meet Riley’s imploring eyes. “With our oh-four-hundred departure time, we were already cutting it close to make it to ex-fil in time.”

Jack can see the protests rising on Riley’s face, warring with the awareness that she hasn’t been here very long, is new to this covert operations business, and feels like she’s on shaky enough footing that questioning her boss, the woman who is responsible for the fact that she's free in Ankara and not rotting in prison is probably not a wise move. But Mac has gone to bat for her several times already, getting her out of jail in the first place and most recently, mounting a successful campaign for Riley to be free to search for her own living arrangements, not stuck under some version of house arrest at a Phoenix safe house.

"A minute to bring him inside is too much?"

“Ex-fil teams have strict instructions and timelines. If they are compromised, they leave. If the agents are late, they leave. Despite what your teammate might be teaching you, your ex-fil time is not fluid. If you are late you should be prepared to be left behind, captured, and disavowed.” 

“Can we not do this now, Patricia?” Jack ducks his head inside the vehicle, glaring at his boss.  


“Better for Riley to see this now, than to watch your antics and believe that she can flout the rules without consequences.”

“Yeah, I know. A good ex-fil team is harder to replace than an agent.”

“It would be nice if you acted like you believed that once in a while, Jack.” 

“But Mac would be harder to replace than the whole damn agency.” 

“If you take a look out the back window you’ll see a cloud of dust. Galata forces that we haven’t managed to shake. Jack, tell Riley how many rounds you have left.”

“Three,” Jack growls, he turns in his seat, making eye contact with Riley, letting her know this curt tone isn't directed at her. “I’ve taken out a whole kill squad with only two before, Pat, you know that.” He doesn't want to think she hits the next pothole on purpose, not with Mac clinging to the roof, but his chest bangs against the door frame and he swallows a yelp.

He leans back out the window and feels Riley tighten his grip on his shirt, her other hand stabilizing his shoulder.

"Five minutes," Patty announces. "He can hold on five minutes."

“Hang on, I’ve got you,” Jack reassures over the rumble of the engine. He can barely hear Mac’s voice, can’t make out the individual words. “I know. Almost there.”

Jack keeps up a steady stream of chatter. The wind drags his voice away, but Mac flashes him a pained grin. It gives him something to focus on, a familiar comfort from his muted drawl. 

He hears a gasp from Riley and knows she’s just realized what Jack saw the moment he saw Mac after he landed. 

“It’s blood. On the windshield, that’s blood. Mac’s hurt.”

“Yes.” Thornton doesn’t take her eyes off the road. “Two minutes.” 

"Jack!" Riley protests.

"I know, honey. I've got him. He'll be okay.” And he prays that he's right.   


The jeep rattles across the field and bursts through the gate, eliciting a yelp from Mac and a scowl from Jack. Coming in hot next to the fueled jet waiting for them. 

“Hold on, hold on now,” Jack scolds Mac, holding him still. Trying to keep him from moving while he climbs out of the front seat. “Wait for me. Let me help.”

Jack balances on the running board, reaching for Mac, providing support, and guiding his body as he slides off the roof of the car. Jack scans Mac head to toe. 

“That shoulder the only place you’re bleeding?”

Mac nods, landing heavily with an aborted gasp.

“Bullet still in there or a through and through?”

“Think it’s a graze,” Mac leans against the hood of the jeep, tipping his head back and closing his eyes, breathing through the pain. The adrenaline that kept him hanging onto the roof now failing him. 

“You okay?” Jack whispers into Mac’s ear, hand wrapping around his wrist. “Thornton incoming on your left flank.” 

Mac nods, standing up straighter.

“MacGyver,” Patty rounds the car. “You got the virus uploaded then?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mac opens his eyes and pushes away from Jack’s support. 

“You’re sure?”

Mac’s jaw tightens. “Yes. Ma’am.” He repeats, his voice lower. An edge of danger. Jack’s hand brushes his forearm. 

Thornton raises an eyebrow and gives a sharp nod. “Good.” She takes a step then pauses. “I don’t care if Dalton stitches you up on the flight home, you will be seen by Medical as soon as you land. I’ll be watching for the paperwork.” 

“Don’t worry, Patty, I’ll take care of our boy,” Jack says with a quiet glare at Mac. 

Thornton doesn’t wait for a response from Mac or acknowledge Jack’s obvious attempts to irritate her and keep her ire on him. She crosses the tarmac quickly, heading for a drone-like plane.

“What’s with you?” Jack mutters, curving an arm under Mac’s shoulders. “Thought I was the insubordinate one living in the doghouse?”

Mac grunts.

“You must be hurtin’ more’n you’re lettin’ on.”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh yeah? Really? Okay then,” Jack releases his grip on Mac, taking a step away, watching with a raised eyebrow as the younger man wavers on his feet. He throws a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll meet you on the plane then. If you’re fine”

Mac glares at him. A stalemate of stubbornness. He stalks towards the plane. The crew urging them to hurry.   


Despite pretending he believes Mac’s lie that he’s fine, Jack matches him step for step. Watching the tension in Mac’s shoulder, the lines of pain around his mouth and between his eyes. Jack remains just a step behind him, letting him struggle. Stays within an arm’s reach as he staggers up the boarding steps, but keeps his hands off. 

Riley follows, her steps less certain. 

As the door closes behind them and they begin taxiing down the runway, Jack stops and opens an overhead bin, pulling out a well-stocked first aid kit before following Mac up the aisle, directing him into a pair of seats. 

“Hang tight for me.”

Mac’s head is tipped back against the seat, eyes closed but he gives a one shouldered shrug of acknowledgement.

Jack strips off the beige uniform top, tossing it into an empty seat as he stalks up the aisle to the lavatory in his white undershirt. He closes the door firmly behind him and locks it, then splashes some water on his warm face, taking some deep breaths. Haunted eyes stare back at him from the mirror. 

“He’s okay. Upright and walking. Breathing this time. Just a graze, just a graze.” Jack shakes his head to dispel the visions of a lifeless Mac under his hands, blood welling from a bullet wound he had no right surviving. White dress shirt clinging to a chest that didn’t rise and fall with breaths. A heart still under his touch. 

He takes a shuddering breath, the need to see Mac again spurs him to action, but he forces himself to take the time to scrub his hands thoroughly before returning. He gives a reassuring nod to Riley before he takes his seat.   


Mac’s fingers fumble with the buttons before Jack bats them away. 

“Let me help.” 

Mac scowls, then drops his hands to his lap in consent. 

Jack tries not to let his hands shake as he unbuttons the stiff material. He eases it from Mac’s shoulders, peeling it away from the wound. Blood saturates the upper left sleeve. Jack digs through the extensive first aid kit. 

“Gonna hurt,” he warns, watching Mac’s impassive face before he begins cleaning the wound. Mac was right. It is a graze. Still bleeding sluggishly. Rivulet of blood streaked across Mac’s arm to his fingertips. 

Jack focuses on the work. Not on the blood on his hands, or the memory of how it looked in the pale moonlight. Tries not to remember the dichotomy of Mac’s hot blood and cold skin under his fingers. Jack’s eyes flash to his face. It’s pale, like it was that night. His eyes are closed but this time the lids flutter, lashes brushing against his cheeks. 

His hair isn’t wet. He’s still warm under Jack’s hands.

Jack focuses on that.   


On the steady breaths and the rise and fall of Mac's chest. 

Wound clean, Jack holds pressure to staunch the last of the bleeding. With his free hand, he wraps his fingers around Mac’s wrist, silently counting his pulse. Taking reassurance in the steady thump. 

He cleans the blood from Mac’s arm and hand, grateful for a reason to maintain physical contact. 

“I’m just gonna wrap it up,” Jack says, replacing the bloodied gauze with a clean white square, and wrapping a roll of kerlix around his bicep to maintain pressure. “I’ll check on it again later. You let me know if it starts bleeding, alright?”

Mac’s jaw is clenched. His eyes blinking furiously against an onslaught of tears that threaten to fall.

“Mac? Buddy, what’s wrong? Are you hurting?”

“No, I’m fine,” Mac chokes on the word, turning away. 

“Hey,” Jack catches his cheek, fingers dipping below his jaw resting against his pulse. Searching for something he missed. “What’s wrong? You gotta tell me or I can’t fix it.”

“I’m good. I’m not - it burns a little but it’s fine,” Mac swallows hard. 

“Are you hurting anywhere else?” Jack runs one hand against Mac’s chest. “Somewhere I can’t see? What’s-”

“I’m not weak,” Mac snarls. 

Jack flinches. 

“No. You’re not,” he carefully releases Mac’s face. “I don’t think anyone would ever accuse you of being weak. You’re the strongest person I know.” 

“I can still do this job.”

Jack nods slowly, a thoughtful look on his face. “Do you still want to?”

Mac’s mouth opens, then closes, as though surprised by the question. And surprised that he doesn’t immediately have an answer. 

“Cause we had a good run. An amazing run. The stuff o’ legends. We’ve done more in the last couple years than most agents do in a whole career. No one would blame you if you decided you were done.”

Mac doesn’t say anything. Jaw clenched and eyes unfocused, staring off into middle distance. Tears barely held at bay. 

Jack watches him carefully before he picks up Mac’s hand, cleaning away the blood that clings to his cuticles. The kid will speak when he’s ready, when he’s worked his brain around whatever it’s chewing on.

“It burned,” Mac clenches the hand of his uninjured arm. He looks down at the furrow in his left shoulder. Inches away from the bright pink scar on his chest, hidden by his undershirt, but they both know it’s there. 

It stared Jack in the face for a week before Mac finally woke up in the hospital, mocking his failure to keep his boy safe. A chest tube snaking out from Mac’s side. A ventilator in his throat, breathing for him because the doctors didn’t think his abused chest could manage the strain. Pumping blood into him to replace what was lost in the lake, in the sand, on Jack's hands.   


“It burned and I was falling again.”

Jack feels the prickle of tears behind his eyelids. 

“I jumped this time and I could breathe but all I could think was that I got shot again. Was about to hit the water. Drown. Again and I didn’t know if I - if I could come back from that. Not- not again.” Mac’s hand brushes against the place over the scar. 

Jack presses his hand over Mac’s. Against his chest. His heart beating underneath. 

He knows the feeling. The terror.

He can’t lose Mac. It would destroy him.

“I meant what I said kid, most people, they wouldn’t have come back from that. Not just the injury, that’s more than enough. The weeks in the hospital and in pain. The hours of PT, I know how much that took out of you. How hard you fought to get through those sessions. Losing Nicki and then finding out she betrayed you. You’ve given more than anyone has a right to ask of you. It’s okay if you’re done.”

“I don’t know -”

“And you don’t have to decide now.”

Mac nods. 

“You shouldn’t even be back full time yet anyway. Thornton never should have asked you to come back so soon. She'll have to give you some time off. Besides,” Jack rotates his shoulder. “I mighta pulled something hanging onto you. We’ll both need a little medical leave.”

“It was the other shoulder, Jack,” Mac says with a small smile.

“Nah, you were too busy hanging onto the roof of a car to be paying attention. And now you’re delirious from blood loss.” Jack pushes Mac to rest against the seat. 

“I’m not going to Medical,” Mac announces, setting his jaw.

“Mac,” Jack begins slowly.

“No. I’m not. I don’t care what Thornton said. I’ve spent too much time there already. I’m tired of being looked at.”

“I get it, bud, but you got shot -”

“A graze.”

“Still shot though.”

“What is it you called it the last time you were shot? A scratch?” Mac asks, raising an eyebrow in defiance. “Are you going to let them x-ray that shoulder?”

Jack’s eyes narrow. “Alright. I guess Patty’s actual words were get seen, didn’t say the seeing had to be in Medical. I think there’s a doc or two that likes you enough that they might make a house call. Might be able to call in a favor and make that happen. You gonna be good? Let them check you out if they stop by the house.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really,” Jack says. “You gotta get looked at. Just to be sure. Ease my mind. Riley’s too. She’s been playing it cool but she was pretty upset when Thornton wouldn’t stop long enough to pull ya in. And she’s sitting up there trying to pretend she’s not worried.”

Mac glances up a few seats and Riley ducks her head when she’s caught. 

“Fine.” Mac settled back against the seat again. 

“Good boy,” Jack says, patting his good shoulder. “You want something for pain?”

“No, I… I want to be able to wake up. If the nightmares start.” 

Jack nods, knowing that feeling too. He stands, grabbing a pair of blankets from an overhead compartment. “You want to move to the couch?” Jack gestures to Mac’s usual spot where he stretches out for post-mission flights home. 

Mac pauses, considering it. “If you’re going to sit here, I’ll stay here too.”

Jack drapes the blanket over Mac’s shoulders and settles in next to him, kicking both seats into a deeper than commercial recline. 

"Wherever you need me to be hoss," Jack vows. It's more than just about seating arrangement. It's a promise he's made to Mac before. "No matter what happens, where you go, I go."

**Author's Note:**

> The 80's car surfing, Michael J. Fox movie that Jack references is the original Teen Wolf


End file.
